Rage
So, my mom got a new boyfriend. I never actually liked this new man. He was the fourth man my mother decided to date. And, being a rather eavesdropping fifteen year-old, I did not like what I heard and saw by first hand account. The original three boyfriends were not those I entirely liked either, but this particular one was special. He caught my eye several times... The first man my mom dated was being a rather overdramatic, common senseless, lazy man without priority. Yes, my mother was young during that time. Maybe like, seventeen. She wasn't interested in going to college, and wanted to do nothing but party. One day, she met this guy, they started dating, fucked, and then suddenly, I was born into hell. So as you may guess, this man is my biological father. Today he lives married to another woman, with three children who have absolute-zero discipline. But apparently, I was the one given the red hot poker for hitting a ten year-old boy on the shoulder. And folks wonder why I only visit them on weekends. I dread those weekends. The second was a selfish, unsharing angry prick. He had two other kids already, a young boy and a girl, whom I was very fond of at a young age. Me and mom were very happy to be with him until he refused to pay any money. One day, a big fight broke out, and from what I actually heard, it was physical. Hey, you'd say the same if you found out you mom's boyfriend threw a Barbie doll at her. It was a sad end. I really liked those kids. They were the closest to brother and sister I would ever get. The third was this old guy who recently went to jail for doing drugs. I kinda already knew the guy was messed up from the... wild look in his eye. He had a young, spoiled daughter, who whined to get what she wanted, only to use for for a few days before whining to get a new toy. But in a few ways, I liked the girl. She was cute. Even if she was spoiled rotten. I tried my best to ignore this, but inside, I kinda already knew that things were going downhill. Not because of the girl, but because of my mom and this man. They were totally not compatible. Nor were I and him. This man and me never saw eye to eye. But now, my mother is with possibly the worst man I have ever come to know. An alcoholic. A fucking alcoholic. Why in the existence of my life as I know it, must it be a fucking alcoholic. But, I was thirteen at the time. I had absolutely no say in this situation. Mom might've thought we would get along, wince we're both gamers. News flash. The drunken idiot plays "Call of Duty" and "Grand Theft Auto". I play "Final Fantasy", "Team Fortress", and many totally different genre games. But, just like the previous two boyfriends, this man had an eight year-old son. I liked him, and he looked up to me like a brother. I've lived with a memory of two boyfriends with kids. Do you want to know what they all have in common? When the day comes that my mom and the idiot she decided she wanted to spend her life with split up, I lose the stepbrothers and stepsisters I have come to grow with. It makes me silently weep each time. Even thinking about them as I write this makes me sniffle. Now, I knew with my mom being with an alcoholic, things were never going to be good. I was a hundred percent certain I was going to lose another brother. But the question I was dreading was when. Now, let me clear things up before I decide to get ahead of myself. My name is Gavin. I live in Lees Summit, Missouri. It's a decent town in my eyes. I'm in between the middle class and lower class lifestyle. Luckily, we have a rather supportive family, so if things ever go to hell, we always have a high class aunt, or a loving grandma out in Billings. But we're not talking about my family. We're talking about me, and the situation at hand. I'm in the fucking streets. Why? ...I'm on the run. I'm an enemy of the public. The most least expected, considering my lifestyle, personality, and minor popularity throughout my town. No, I was not a hormonally depressed teen who decided to rob a grocery store or something. I didn't do drugs. I was a very good kid! I loved everyone, and everyone loved me! Well, metaphorically. But technically speaking, I didn't have much to hate. So why am I here? ...I did hate someone. If you guessed that I hated the alcoholic, then you, my good friend, deserve a prize! I'll try and explain as much as I can. I'm in a hurry, and I don't have much time to stand in one place. I don't want to get caught. I just want to find someone who can maybe take me in, and understand me and my actions. I'm not crazy. I'm not a criminal. I'm just angry. It all started in Fall 2012. I was sitting on my computer, playing a bit of Left 4 Dead 2. Enjoying the mods I had put in, thanks to Steam Workshop, and just enjoying the game. When all of a sudden, I hear a door slam. I quit my session, and come out of my room to see what had caused the slamming. I was now facing two familiar faces. A rather stressed looking curly blonde woman in her thirties, and an angry, taller man with light brown hair and a small beard also in his thirties. I...can't quite recall what they were yelling about. All I knew was that they kept fighting, and fighting, and fighting. I had grown too accustomed to this. They fight almost everyday for really stupid reasons. My solution was to stay out of it and let the flames die out. But today was special. As I walked to my room, I began hearing threats. Not the whole typical blackmailing or "I'm gonna leave you" scene. I mean... killing. This frightened me. A lot. That night, as the house was asleep, I lay in bed thinking about what the man had said. He threatened to kill her. But why? Likely a stupid reason, no doubt. It was typical behavior. But never before had anyone threatened one another. As I lay thinking... some... images were formed in my head. No, no. They are not the result of some demon from hell, or some puppet that walks around the house. Creepypasta, etc. I had read a lot of stories, and I know full well what you're talking about. The images were of my own visual thoughts. But that doesn't mean they aren't worthy of something disturbing. I thought about a church. A rather beaten up, old church. Like, a church from Detroit. At the stand of the once beautiful Victorian styled church was me, grinning madly. At the entrance, the doors locked, stood a man I had come to really hate. His expression looked truly afraid. Like every bit of alcohol he had used to rid himself of his griefs had suddenly vanished. But he wasn't just afraid of me. Hundreds of swinging blades of various sizes and shapes swung from the ceiling. Each one of them long enough to sever the man into a million, chunky, bloody bits. I walked, still grinning, through the church. The blades kept swinging, but none of them touched me as I walked casually toward the visibly afraid drunk. The little fucker was going to die tonight. Today. NOW! ...But I was never able to finish the fantasy in my head. I've had this fantasy for two years. I guess it started in like, Winter 2010, but I wasn't one to keep track. Sometimes I liked to alter the fantasies, such as having a gang with me, or a thousand ripped up toys scattered all over the floor. But as soon as I started advancing in this little daydream, I was never able to reach the part where the fool had died... Why not? I stood up, out of bed. I was angry. Livid. Up and out of the roof. I was entirely sick of having to deal with three fucking boyfriends, and friends I had lost! I had had enough of this drinking and fighting and bullshit! ...If no one was going to end this pathetic relationship... then I would. First, I went into the kitchen. It was relatively tidy, save the sugar donuts still not thrown away on the counter. I wasn't here to sate my hunger for food. I looked at the knife box, and began looking for something of my size. Yes. A lethal, medium-sized blade that looked so sharp, it could cut through bone by just touching it. Perfect. I stuck the knife in my backpocket... and headed toward my mother's room. I saw my sleeping mom next to a snoring, ugly alcoholic. This was going to be the last time he would wake up, I assured myself. I walked to him, and whispered in his ear, harshly, to try and get him up. "Hey, there's a raccoon outside. Take a look." I smiled. I knew the man liked to hunt sometimes. I'm sure he's killed a few animals... The man woke up with a groan, and looked at me. "Gavin? It's like, 11 o' clock in the mornin', what're you-" He was cut short when his slow brain registered the word "raccoon." Without much to say other than a mumble, he stood up, out of bed, careful not to wake the sleeping woman beside him, and walked down the hallway to the backdoor. I was right behind him, keeping innocent. He opened the door, and I followed after him. We were out on the deck, now. He scanned the area for any sign of the fabled raccoon. "I don't see any-" He turned to look at me... and stepped back as he saw me holding the knife. I smiled sweetly. "Two years. Two fucking years," I told him. "I had to put up with your shit. But never once had I thought of killing you. But tonight, I've had enough. You're not going anywhere. I'm going to be satisfied tonight." I charged at him, and with the angry defense of a man, he tackled me to the ground. The knife was knocked out of my grasp, and down the stairs. Shit. He began punching my face, and I was helpless to stop him. I was wracked with pain, and my vision blurred... I always told my friends and those who threatened to beat me up at school that I don't play by the rules. I don't want to knock them out. That'd just put them to an easy sleep. No. I was very descriptive in how I fought. I use my hands as living knives. I rip at the first patch of skin I can get my hands on. I pull off the ears. I rip apart the jaw. I take their fingers and bend them in ways not thought possible. I was truly a dirty fighter. I grabbed at the idiot's face. And I knew, instantly, it was over. First, I got a hold of his left ear. I pulled and pulled and pulled. The man on top of me screamed in pain, and struggled to escape. But I kept going. I could hear flesh being ripped, and I pulled harder. Infinitely harder. Finally... His ear was dislocated. And I felt good. I dropped the bloody ear, and he rolled off of me, clutching the side of his head that bled freely. But I wasn't going to sit there and let him cry. No! He was going to feel every ounce of pain that tore my heart! I tackled him this time, and I shoved both of my index, middle fingers, and thumbs into his eye sockets. The blood vessels started to pop, making the eyes much more red. And then, with a squelching sound, the eye popped. Juices and blood covered his defiled face. It was much much easier to just squeeze those orbs than to rip off an ear. I got a lovely howling from the man in torture. But I wasn't even close to done. This was not the pain I had suffered. I took his open top jaw with both hands, and pulled. I pulled very hard. Harder than I'd usually ever pull in my life. I guess I was just really excited. I laughed in delight as I heard the ripping and the cracking of bones. I pried his upper jaw apart until it was stuck like that. He coughed and gurgled helplessly as I stared at him, smiling. I had ran out of ideas, so I guess it was time for the grand finale. I took the skin on his face... and began tearing at it. Patches of skin were being ripped out by my hands. One by one, until his face was nothing but muscle. His eyeballs limp, flat, and danging on his flesh. I tore into the beautiful muscle, getting blood all over my hands and face. Chunks were flying around the deck as I dug into him like a lion and his prey. But I stopped at the very second I saw bone. I kept smiling, and went downstairs to pick up the knife that had fallen down the wooden stairs. I came back up with it, and raised it firmly above my head like a signature killer, and brought it down not into the typical chest, but instead, into his mouth. The blade punctured the back of his throat, and I sat there, watching him gurgle and choke on his own blood. I did it. I had ended it. And, frankly, I think I did pretty well. I kicked his temple, harshly, and he gave a gurgling sigh. That sounded more beautiful than Beethoven. But you know what didn't sound beautiful? I heard screams of fear. Lights in neighboring houses were turning on. I heard police sirens. I had no time to sit and enjoy the death of this putrid waste. What have I done? I ran inside the house and grabbed what I needed. My iPhone, my 3DS, respective chargers, my headphones...I know they weren't probably the best things to grab, but I grabbed them for the sake of grief. The same reason my mom's dead boyfriend probably drank a lot. I stuffed my belongings in a small red bag, and ran to the fridge. Bottles of water. Yes! I grabbed as much as I could and shoved them in the bag. I ran out the backdoor again and...stared at the door... This was it. I was leaving the comforts of my home. My mother. How she'd cry when she'd find out what happened tonight. How I'd miss her. How I'd miss my actual satisfying school, my friends, my girlfriend, my forms of entertainment. How I'd miss everything...I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay and hold my mom close and cry and tell her how sorry I was. Anything but this madness I was facing now. But I had no choice. The police will not listen to my tale. I took a deep breath, and began to speak. "Farewell, mom. I love you." And then I ran. My name is Gavin. I am fifteen years old, I have brown curly hair, and hazel eyes. I wear a red shirt with long blue jeans, and I have a black and red bag on my shoulder. If you see me, I don't want you to run and tell the police. I promise you, I will not make your day very comfy. I want you to listen to me, and not judge me as a killer, but as a suffering lost boy. I don't want to kill anyone, but I will kill you if I need to. I'll do exactly what I did to the poor man to you. And I don't think you'll enjoy that. Before I go, I want you to have this. The grief I hold is unbearable...but it would never hurt to share with someone, my pains and guilt. How? I won't give you my phone number. You could give it to police and track it down. But what I can give you is my 3DS Friend Code. I know it's silly, but... that's the only way I'll begin to trust you. And maybe, you can understand me. Maybe we can be friends. Maybe we can meet one day, and I'll thank you forever. 1220-6179-2581 You can make your decision. You're either with me or against me. And if you're against me... I hope you're prepared. Category:Dismemberment Category:Mental Illness